Chapter Fifteen

Palatial Party

Spike bid Michael and his wife Caterina goodbye the next morning after the ship had docked in Pamarelo. Caterina had had a goofy expression on her face, and adding to the fact that her mane was incredibly askew, she walked on her hooves as though her unsteady legs might fall off at any moment. Discreetly, Spike had slipped Michael the ingredients for the drink, reminding him that it was very potent and only a little would be needed. The earth pony thanked the drake, stating his family had been having this problem before and this would help them, if not all his fellow workers, immensely.

As the Auditore left port a few hours later, Spike couldn’t help but smile: he was even willing to bet that the population of Sicily would increase by a sizeable margin within the coming years. There had always been problems with shortage of workers, but now it seemed, and singlehandedly thanks to Spike, the island would soon experience a foal boom.

So the ship sailed, narrowly avoiding a minor storm as it did so. It only took the better part of the morning, but by the time the sun was high in the sky, the ship docked at a rather large coastal town in northern Algereigns. Spike and his wives left the ship, instantly finding themselves pressed in by the cords of merchants and locals buying and selling their wares. It was a rather odd sight, to see so many ponies of all kinds, and even a few zebras, packed together so tightly and yet going along with their business as if they were the only ones there. Finding a small caravan that was heading to the main city of Agrabah was simple enough, but it took quite a chunk out of the little gold they still had left. Well, after Spike and the others had bought some new clothes and things for him to eventually send back, like spices.

“I wonder what it will be like?” Meia asked, fanning herself as they rode atop some camels. Unlike the rest of the ungulate world, camels reveled in performing physical labor and gladly would serve as “beasts of burden”, though they were still paid and all. The only difference was that their physiology had not granted them hands and they still had to walk on all four hooves. “Hopefully it will be cooler in the place we’ll be staying in.” All of them, except for Spike of course, were sweating rather uncomfortably in the sweltering heat. They had not yet gone into true desert, but the rocks and patchy grasslands were still unlike the cool European climate they had grown so accustomed to.

Spike had chosen to adopt some of the local garb, as they all had, and his face was partially rapped in a large turbine. He pulled it to the side a bit to speak. “Well, we will be staying with the local sultan in his palace, and if I remember anything from the lessons on architecture, then it’ll have cool cross-breezes built into it. Besides, from what the locals told me back in port, buildings here don’t hold heat very well. It actually gets cold during the night, especially the farther into the desert you go.”

“Well, it’ll be nice to get somewhere nice and cool,” Trixie said from under her small umbrella, fanning herself from atop the camel she road. “It sure does smell out here.”

“Sorry, that’s me,” the camel said. “We don’t take baths, being desert folk and all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Trixie said, covering her mouth in surprise at the camel’s confession. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No offense taken, miss,” the camel said good-naturedly. “We’ve been used to it for as long as we’ve been living in the desert.”

So they ventured further and further into the interior, until at last they came over a hill and saw a truly magnificent sight. A city lay spread out before them, sheltered from the harsh winds by distant mountains. Trees actually grew along the shores of what appeared to be a natural lake, with birds flying to and fro along the banks. The city had two sets of walls, with the outermost being almost like a giant guardrail. The inner wall was high and had numerous towers all along it, with only a few gates allowing passage into the city. Buildings spread far and wide, sometimes a good three stories high: obviously the stonemasons here were well versed in their art. The throngs of the crowds could be seen moving through the streets, almost a solid color of white and yellow clothes.

The palace of the sultan was something else altogether. It looked to be made of gleaming marble, with a dome tipped with what appeared to be a golden point. Marble obelisks littered the area, each intricately carved with numerous signs and symbols. Several pools could be seen, along with what looked to be fountains and even a small forest of tropical trees. There were statues, archways and even an aqueduct. All in all, it truly did look like the residing place of royalty.

The four travelers went with the small caravan down a winding road amidst the hills, the city growing ever closer and closer with each passing minute. Maria looked up at it with a strange expresiion, almost as if she had seen it before.

“It reminds me of the cities in southern Spreign,” she told Spike when he asked. “Centuries ago, the Moors emigrated to those lands both building and conquering independent cities. Wars followed, and after nearly a century of continuous fighting, the last were driven from their strongholds. This place is giving me a serious sense of déjà vu is all.”

Approaching the outermost gates, Spike and the leader of the caravan, a tall, wispy earth pony, were stopped by three guards. They were zebras, though it was hard to tell under all those clothes and polished armor. It must not have been that hot for them, as they didn’t seem to be sweating.

“State your business,” the guards said, although from the tones of their voices, they were bored and this procedure was likely standard protocol.

“I am Al Adin,” the pony replied. “I come to trade within the city: I have goods for the local merchants.” He paused for a few seconds. “You know, Salil, this is really getting old.”

“I know, Adin, I know,” one of the guards replied. “Standard procedure: sultan’s orders. And you, stranger?” the guard asked, turning to face the robed drake. Spike removed his facial turban to speak.

“I am Spike Dragul, here to meet with Sultan Ahmad Rahal, at the request of Princess Celestia, co-ruler of the lands of Equestria.”

The three guards looked suitably shocked at Spike’s appearance, but became evidently more so at his statement. One pulled out a horn and gave it a great blow, causing the noise to reverberate along the outer walls. Soon other horns, father away, sounded, and more and more continued after.

“You will follow us, your highness,” the guards said, making deep bows before the dragon. Said dragon felt like face-palming: oh great, they knew of his royal background. He looked back to see his wives get off their mounts and walk to his side.

“These are my wives,” Spike said, noticing the questioning looks the guards were giving each other. They merely shrugged and approached the gate, signaling to some hidden ponies within. Soon enough, the large gate retreated up into the gatehouse, and the guards bid them welcome.

Strolling along, Spike and his wives were immediately confronted by a whole host of banners and guards, their uniforms glinting in the light. Forming a tight cordon around the four visitors, the whole troop escorted them through the streets, pushing back anyone who was dumb enough to try and get close. Nothing truly physical, of course: simply a push here or there to make sure everyone was cut off from the inner circle.

“Do you have any idea what is going on?” Trixie asked, looking around as they walked up the streets.

“This must be how they escort dignitaries through the city,” Meia replied, looking around. “It seems to me that this city has more than its fair share of scoundrels.” To emphasize her point, several nasty-looking bodyguards moved past the group, surrounding a haughty-looking zebra.

“Whatever it is, there’s somepony coming this way,” Maria said, pointing up at some step. From the entrance to the inner sanctum of the city, the palace, was a sight unlike any other. A zebra, both short and rather round, bounced down the steps, his large and plushy turban swaying to and fro on his head. He looked to be of a jovial sort, like Santa Paws, the polar bear that delivered presents to all the good colts and fillies at the end of the year on a sleigh pulled by flying walruses.

The guards parted for the chubby zebra, who bowed deeply as he came to a stop in front of the four travelers. “Sir Spike Dragul,” he said, his voice containing very little accent. “It gives me great pleasure and pride to welcome you to our fair city, and into my home. Please, if you’ll follow me,” he said, turning around and walking up the steps, a wave of his hand dismissing the guards.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Spike said, following the rotund zebra up the steps and into the palace. Trixie, Meia and Maria were close behind, whispering to each other and pointing out interesting statues or architecture. “I trust you received Celestia’s letter?”

“Of course my dear drake!” the zebra replied, his belly barely contained by his clothes. “I never thought I’d live to see the day to meet- nay, house! -a dragon! They are a very, very rare sight in our part of the world, and have been for a very long time. The last time a dragon came by through these parts was a good three hundred years ago!”

“That is quite a long time ago,” Spike agreed, knowing perfectly well that the dragon in question was likely still alive. His mind returned to the task at hand. “In her letter, she said you wished to ask me some things about myself? I believe you also wanted some maps?”

“Yes yes, of course!” the jovial zebra replied as they all entered into the palace. Immediately they were surrounded by servants, all bent on catering to their every whim. In a flash, a curtain was constructed and Spike's wives were pushed behind it with shouts of surprise. Within minutes all three emerged after much bickering with the silent servants. Spike's eyes went wide at their change of clothes: from the baggy robes they had bought in the port into... well, nothing important was showing, per se, but it still made his heart beat rather fast.

The sultan continued on talking as if nothing had happened. "-in the gardens. But enough about me: I want to know mroe about you! We’ll discuss it during the celebration!”

“Celebration?” Spike asked as his wives were shown several other kinds of silken outfits to wear. They politely refused, half-attempting to cover themselves to not feel so exposed in their new clothes. “What celebration?”

“Why, your arrival here, of course! It’s not every day that royalty from a foreign land visits!” the sultan said, bringing them to a large open room filled with pillows and small, short-legged tables. With a clap of his hands, even more servants seemed to spring out of the very walls, carrying with them jugs of water and wine, platters of food, and several more pillows. Soon eough, dancers and jugglers joined the fray, throwing balls through the air and such. It turned into a downright circus, complete with a sword-swallowing unicorn, an earth pony who ate and breathed fire (much to Spike's curiosity), and the dancers...

Well, suffice to say they were zebras, but so exotic-looking in their scantily-clad bodies that Spike had a hard time focusing on the conversation. Well, his brides too had a hard time focusing on him: they were perfectly fine with admiring the other mare's bodies, if feeling a little embarrassed by the clothes they had been forced into and how they compared to the dancers. Trixie especially felt out of place: she had always known she was very pretty, but to see these zebras writhe and dance around her made her feel slightly... out of place.

“Come! Sit with me, and tell me all about Equestria.” The sultan lead them through the throng of dancers, who scattered with but a clap of the chubby stallion's hands. All of the others did as well, leaving behind only Spike, his wives, the sultan, and the attending servants.

Spike sat down on a pillow opposite the sultan’s many pillows, his wives sitting behind him. He had yet to see any of the sultan’s family: maybe they too were waiting for him to summon them? He took a small piece of fruit from a platter, noticing it’s incredible sweetness. “So, what would you like to know?”

The sultan plopped down amongst his many pillows, a large platter of fruits and vegetables all to himself, along with a large pitcher of wine. “Everything, Spike: everything,” he said, his glee now approaching critical levels. "I have heard some of what Equestria is like, but I wish to know more."

So it was that Spike told the sultan about Equestria, from the history, to the local customs, to the crops grown around the towns, to the royal city of Canterlot, and even what he knew of the princesses. The sultan watched and listened to him in rapt fascination, as if memorizing every single word that came out of his mouth. Spike soon ran out of water to wet his throat from all the talking, and timidly accepted his own pitcher of wine. A servant came up to the short zebra and whispered something in his ear as the sun began to set in the distance, casting its rays through the open archways and into the room.

“That is all very fascinating,” Ahmad Rahal said, his own wine pitcher all but empty. “Do feel free to eat and drink to your heart’s content: I must depart for a little while. Something has come up that requires my attention.”

Spike nodded and drank from a goblet filled with wine, marveling at the exquisite taste. Soon, he began to drink more and more, as if the liquid was something he had been craving for a very long time.

Getting up though not without difficulty, the stubby zebra went off, leaving Spike alone with his wives.

“Seems like a nice enough fellow, though I did not appreciate how he scoffed at the idea of the mayor of Ponyville being a mare,” Trixie said, biting into some more fruit. “Biased against females, if you ask me.”

“That’s likely part of his culture, dear,” Meia said, sipping a bit of wine from a goblet she had obtained from a servant. “He’s been born and bred to believe that mares are second-fiddle to stallions. Equestria learned long ago both sexes are equal, and as such the country has been far more stable because of it.”

“Well, I think he has a rather decent set of manners myself,” Maria said, looking over at her husband. “What do you think, Spike?” She saw him looking into an empty pitcher with a strange look on his face.

“Spike?” she asked again. “Are... are you all right?”

The drake hiccupped, a sheepish expression spreading over his face. “The wine is gone,” he said with a far-off look in his eyes. “Why is the wine gone?”

“Oh no,” Trixie said suddenly. “How much did you drink, Spike?” Her tone sounded rather... on edge.

“All of *hic* it,” Spike said, a hiccup interrupting his sentence. “Is there any more?” His wings rustled against his back, the fabric suddenly opening up as he spread them. His empty pitcher droppwed from his hand and rolled away.

“What’s going on, Trixie?” Maria said, looking over at the clearly-worried unicorn.

“It’s the alcohol in the wine,” Trixie said, slowly edging away from Spike: Meia copied her movements. “More specifically, the fruit in the wine. I read that dragons have a high tolerance for most kinds of alcohol, usually the harder the better. But when the drink is made from certain fruits like grapes, there are some... interesting side effects, besides drunkenness.”

“So... dragons can’t handle wine?” Meia asked as Maria too copied their movements of slowly backing away from Spike. His eyes seemed to swing in different directions as his wings began to flap.

“No, and they can become dangerous: to themselves, at any rate,” Trixie said, getting to her feet. “There are tons of reports of dragons crashing through buildings after having wine, and some of those were built from stone. Never mind the sudden regression to childhood behavior and the want for a game.”

“So, what do we do?” Maria asked as Spike suddenly rose to his feet. "Do we retrain him?" Judging from the way Spike's body was tensing, that would likely be a very bad idea.

“Move!” Trixie shouted, diving behind a pillar as Spike lifted off the ground with enough force to send a gust of wind flying through the room. Meia did a back-flip from the force into a pile of pillows in a corner, catching Maria after she landed. They watched in abject horror as Spike flew up and out of the room, his spines narrowly missing the uppermost edge of the archway.

"Why can't we just put some spell on him to stop him?" Maria asked, straightening out her mane.

"Because a flying dragon's momentum can't just be stopped like that," Trixie replied, sapping her fingers to make a point. "My summoning spell would only cause more damage, and if wither of you try anything, he might break something important if his drunken flying is altered: like us!"

“Where’s he going?” Meia asked, getting to her hooves with help from Maria. “I can’t see him.”

Trixie looked out of the archway, only to jump back. “Incoming!” she shouted, narrowly avoiding Spike’s tail as he soared back through the door. With several pumps of his wings he floated up to the ceiling, where his nimble hands soon grabbed onto a ledge. Pulling himself up, he sat there like a stone gargoyle, save for the constant stream of giggles coming from his mouth.

“All these pillows,” he said, pointing with his tail at the pillows in question. “Are you all having a slumber party? Why wasn’t I invited?”

So they chased after him, running around the room like a bunch of schoolyard colts running from fillies that they thought had "cooties". Time and time again he evaded the, sometimes by a few inches. they even tried throwing pillows at him, but he only caught them and threw them back like it was a pillow fight. Giving his drunken state, though, the pillows were zooming like missiles, almost knocking the mares off their feet with the blow. Well, except for Trixie: she had had enough experience with crowds throwing things at her to use her magic to divert the fluffy projectiles away from her and the unborn foal she carried inside her. Then he started calling out to them, calling them funny names like "Twisty" and "Mail-a".

His brides were shocked at his sudden behavioral change: he was acting like a little colt who would not go to bed! “Spike, you need to come down from there,” Maria said, softly but firmly, slightly out of breath from all the running. She really hoped he would not go back outside again: it had taken nearly a half hour to get him away from the fountain. “You could get hurt.”

“I can’t get hurt: I’m Spike the magic dragon!” the drake replied, flying over to another ledge. “See? I can even fly!”

“Yes, yes, of course you can fly: you have wings,” Meia said, placing her hand on her forehead. All of a sudden she felt rather sleepy. She turned to look at the pitcher by her feet, a thought striking her. “Um, ladies: what was in that wine?”

“Likely some local fruit that causes drowsiness if drunken in large quantities,” Trixie said, suddenly sounding sleepy as well. “We all did drink a lot of it: maybe that’s why I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

Maria yawned in agreement just as the last rays of the sun went down and darkness began to creep into the palace. Spike, on the other hand, seemed as awake as ever. He wouldn’t stop flying from ledge to ledge, calling out like a seagull whenever he did so. Well, a seagull that was currently choking on a crab, perhaps.

“Hope-hopefully he calms down enough to come t-to us,” Meia said, nearly falling over onto a pile of pillows. Maria crawled her way over and fell onto her side by the unicorn, muttering something in Spreignish.

Trixie had barely made it to the pillows before she collapsed onto her back, her eyes looking over at Spike. “Come to bed, Spike,” she said with a great yawn. “Come... to bed...” Her eyes closed and she began to snore softly, as did the other two.

Spike, looking down on them from his perch, cocked his head to the side like a bird. “Sleepy time?” he asked aloud, noticing they did not wake. “I don’t want to sleep: I wanna fly!” With that, he leaped from his perch and flew out of the room, his wings carrying him high over the city within a matter of minutes.

He flew for a good hour, circling over buildings and dodging trees along the lake. After perching atop the very dome of the palace, he finally began to feel tired. Wine works differently on dragons in more ways than one: any side effects take longer to take hold, but they in turn hit harder. So it was that Spike felt so tired, all he wanted to do was find a place to sleep. Floating down, he spied an open window and landed in it, crawling on all fours like some weird dog. He didn’t feel like crawling onto the bed on the far side of the room, which seemed to have some pillows tucked under the sheets. Instead, he crawled his way to an opposite bed and lay on top of it, his snores soon filling the room.

Spike awoke the next morning to a scream. Try as he might, he could not raise his head from the... bed?

“Huh?” he wondered, a pounding headache ensuring that his thoughts were scrambled. Why was he on a bed? Hadn’t he fallen asleep on some pillows with his wives?

The scream sounded again and Spike was able to open his eyes enough to see the source of the scream. A zebra was sitting up in the opposite bed, her nostrils flaring as she looked at the intruder before her.

Spike waved weakly at her just as the sultan burst into the room with three guards. He waved for the zebra to be quiet, and then looked over to see Spike.

“Sir Dragul? Are you in Asalah’s room?” the sultan asked, a very confused tone of surprise entering his voice.

Who? “Uh... yes?” the drake replied, not sure what was going on. Where was he?

The sultan clapped his hands together and looked over at the zebra, who had stopped her screaming. “Asalah, did anything happen last night?”

“N-no,” she said, gathering her wits about her. “I-I just woke up and saw him lying there, in the suitor bed.”

The sultan was silent for a few moments, as if trying to collect and sort through all the information he was being delivered. Then, with a clap of his hands, he beamed.

“Oh, this is such wonderful news! To think, I was going to have to give Asalah off to the highest bidder!”

“What?” Spike asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes some more. “What’s going on now?”

“There’ll be more time to talk later, Mr. Dragul,” Ahmad said. “Right now, we have to prepare!”

“Prepare?” Spike asked, confused. “Prepare for what?”

“Why, the wedding ceremony of course!” the sultan said.

“Wedding ceremony?” Spike repeated, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wedding ceremony for who?”

“Why, you and my daughter Asalah, of course!” the sultan replied. “By our custom, any groom who is invited into a home and sleeps in the same room as the one he wishes to marry is, well, married to her! Congratulations!”

Spike’s face turned an almost alabaster sheen, whiter than the purest of snows in the Himarelayas.

“WHAT?!”

Author's Notes:

Sorry it feels a bit rushed: I might come back and add some more to it. Oh boy, Spike: you shouldn't drink. Also, sorry for not updating for what seems like FOREVER: got a lot of college work on my plate right now.

I have also made a startling discovery: this may be even longer than I anticipated. Can you say... over five dozen chapters?